SevenMarkPackAttackMobi (2 page)

I struggled to hide my every expression. Everything but my eyes. They gave me away, I’m sure.

Not letting my tongue hang out--that was a trick.

I’m ready to pounce her. Always. I have no way of stopping the hormones that rage inside of me at the very sight or smell of the woman. Let me say that up front. From the moment I set eyes on her--

Anyhow....I’ll get to that.

Gaia have mercy. She’d stepped out of her slacks into, what would you call it? Fantasy wear. What
the hell
is that? I peered/leered, whatever. Something sheer, black,
with what
? Shimmering, tan roses embroidered in strategic places?

Yeah. I’m peering at all her tight spots, noting every last rose appliqué.

Amber struck a pose, kicked up a foot behind her, stuck her first finger to her tongue, went “Sssss,” and stuck it to her backside.

Oh, yeah.
Fucking yeah.
I’m with her on that.

From her high-heeled...jeez...spiked platform shoes, those gotta be new, over her ankles, knees--I feel the blood rushing from my brain, pooling in my manhood.

My gaze takes its sweet time, easing its way up her thighs, spearing in on--

Time out. Had to close my eyes, get a little control. Tug on my collar. Damn, the thermostat is set too high for this. I already told you...my blood runs a little hot as it is.

“You all right?” She’s been worried about my vitals for awhile now. Says I’m a candidate for a stroke. But then, who isn’t?

I didn’t open my eyes. I reached up and rubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah. Just needed to think about something.” How the hell not to disgrace myself? Don’t want to empty my gun before I ever got near her.

She’d crack a joke. It’s happened before. But don’t think bad about me for it. Amber says it’s
endearing
. I think it shows how fucked up she makes me. I never had that problem with anyone else.

No, really.

She sighed and then moved a little, spread her legs, propped her hands on her hips and tipped that pretty head. Another pose. Something off the cover of a dominatrix movie? All she needs is a whip.

I peeked through squinted lids, and that hand over my face. You know, part of me doesn’t want to look. I haven’t written in my diary yet, and I’ve got a feeling this foreplay is gonna end up painfully, for me. But--

Holy shit, I can smell her. How am I gonna clear my head with that on my brain? I stopped peeking and dropped the hand...and all pretenses. “You are one fucking beautiful bitch. Come here.”

Guess it was her turn to squint, and purse her lips. Sexy, with a bit of a grin and a serious wicked glint reaching her eyes.

I love her expressions: the way her lips move, the way her tongue flicks out and wets them, or her upper teeth bite down on the lower lip when she’s thinking. And tell me this, why is it that some women are blessed with a scent that turns a man into a total dog?

Again, I ask, how the hell am I supposed to keep my wits with something like that in the air between us? She is hot and ready to go, I can smell it. But then, she is most of the time.

Those lips...“What do you think?” A pause. “Mark?” More zigzag snaps.

I stared, I know, and blinked when she did that. “Uh--”

Had to give her an honest opinion, so she wouldn’t kick my ass. I shrugged like I hadn’t really been thinking about it, and her. Continuing my once-over, I zipped past the nether regions. Conserving brainpower--blood flow issues, you know. It’s not like I can’t go back for a second look. Right?

The nearly nothing fabric clung to her hips, the folds of her curves. There was a rose patch over that juncture--you know the one. A single rose at her belly button, one on each nipple.

Okay. I almost laughed out loud...when it occurred to me that it was a
cat
suit.

I could not hide the smile. She’s got such a great sense of humor. A garou bitch in a cat suit. Priceless!

Hands out, she turns--turtle speed--so I can look her over, repeating, “What do you think?”

That’s when it hit me. She’s cut her hair again, not that I focus long on that--what the hell would you call it? A pixie cut? A cap?

Something easy to manage. Amber is all about comfort and being at ease with herself--what works for her. If I don’t like it, I can go screw myself--literally. I have to appreciate her strong character, and her no-nonsense take on who she is. She ain’t fucking apologizing to anybody. Least of all me.

Wait. I don’t want that to sound wrong. She’s the first to admit when she’s isn’t correct on something. I was talking about her self-image.

It’s the most admirable quality she has. She’s self-secure and it’s a turn-on, plain and simple. She wants to wear a fuckin’ miniskirt? She does. She doesn’t give a shit about what other people think. She enjoys life, and she’ll be Gaia-damned if some little asswipe is gonna hold her down for it.

Pausing with her back to me, she smoothed her hands over her hips and asked, “How does it look from back there?” The fabric stretched tightly across her ass and hips.

I growled. Figured it was the best way to get the point across.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she smiled all-out. “You like?”

Cheshire Cat to my wolfish grin.
Oh, yeah, honey, I like.
I’m sure
that’s
all over my face.

I cleared my throat and pulled my gaze from the line-up of vertical roses that climbed her crack-line. What did she think, I’d gone blind? Of course I liked it.

But I could play her game. Focusing on the bridge of her nose, I managed, with a straight face and calmness that didn’t match my pulse, “Your haircut definitely accentuates your eyes.” Her big, dark brown eyes. Jet black hair capped around the tan muzzle--er, face. Yes, she’s got a rather long nose. Almost looks Jewish. Or Italian.

What do I look like, a friggin’ genealogy specialist? Maybe you’d think she looks Hispanic. She’s from a pure garou bloodline, that’s all I know. I can smell that much. She’s been around a bit and can take care of herself on the street, in the woods, or anywhere else you want to put her.

I’m sure one of those points about her is gonna save my ass in the end. Just not sure which.

Something bothers me about that, though. I always smell bastet on her. Like she plays on the wrong side of town when I’m not looking. We never talk about it. Ever. I don’t want to know.

Touching herself, cupping her breasts, lifting them to a perkier point, she asked, “You write in your journal yet?”

Her fingers titillated her nipples; I saw the tips rise. Well, maybe that’s because she had them between her thumb and forefinger. Both breasts. Both hands. Hands on.

I had to inhale through a tight nose. “I’ve been meditating on it. I’ll do it later.”

She is much better to meditate on.

Blinking a-purpose, giving me a wide-eyed owl look, she shook her head, and firmly grunted, “Uh...
No
.”

I spread my legs, gave her the perfect place to settle in against me, thought that might coax her to come closer. Just a few steps. Even held my arms out. All I needed was to get my hands on her. She’d melt, I was sure of it. “I’d rather--”

Amber cut me off. “Did you
not
read the inscription?”

I glanced at the bastard--the journal, I mean. She wants me to clean up my mouth, too. Says if I do, I can put it anywhere I want. I’m already licking my lips.

I am a master of self-control. I am a master of self-control. I keep telling myself that, but she pushes me to my limits. I insisted, “But you’re--”

Obviously ready. Damn, I don’t know how she kept the juices from rolling down the inside of her legs. Talk about your Kegels.

By far, Amber had more impressive inner muscles than outer ones. And as I said already, she was looking good in that department. All she had to do was climb on and I came. And don’t go thinking any bullshit about a big woman being on top. I like her straddling me. I like her under me, too, but what the hell? She’s fucking great in bed. Enthusiastic. Makes me laugh. Makes me pant. Get my point? She is everything I want, and more than I can handle.

Her hands dropped to her hips again and she disappointed me with a matter-of-fact, “I’m willing to wait.”

See what I mean?

That got me. I replied, “Don’t do me like that. Come out here all dressed up in something see-through and--”

“Dog, you better get that tongue back in your mouth.”

Yeah, sometimes she puts on the ghetto act. Who knows, maybe she’s from one of those lighter-skinned African lines? Damn, maybe I’ll have to ask her where her family line comes from. Got me curious now. Never met any of her relatives. Don’t know if she has any left alive.

But she’s all garou. I’d smell it if she weren’t. That’s one thing I’ve got--the best nose in the whole damn world. I sniff out unnaturals for a living.

Maybe I should have said...I
snuff out
unnaturals. You know, people who’ve been bitten and transformed into werewolves. There’s a blight on society.

I’m the hero that keeps the world safe.

What? Didn’t come across like a big hero? What did you want, to see me pulling on tights and a cape? Ain’t never gonna happen. I do my business in the dark. In the shadows. After you’ve gone to sleep.

And they never write me up in the papers.

At least, I never got in the news much before Bark disappeared. Now, it seems like every day someone is calling for an interview.

Amber spun on her heels, heading out of the room, announcing, “Let me know when you’ve written something.”

Her ghetto booty disappeared a second later, before I could wrap my tongue around anything.